Eye Candy
by mcatB
Summary: The brothers' vacation at the beach turns into a nightmare for Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Eye Candy

By Mady Bay – 29, 2006

"You sure this is the place?" Dean asked. He ducked his head again, looking out the top of the windshield, to read the sign on the building.

"Almost Home Resorts," Sam replied. "This is the place."

"Looks like a pretty nice place," his brother said with a shrug, turning the wheel of the Impala and pulling into a parking space.

"I'll go in and get our room."

With that, Sam got out and headed for the resort's main office. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, still in tune to the AC/DC song that was playing in the car.

He smiled to himself. They were here for a vacation, not that either would really admit to needing one, but they'd been running ragged for the past couple of weeks, going from gig to gig, battling evil demons, ghosts and what-nots, and needed some time to recharge.

Sam entered the office, the small bell attached to the door ringing loudly, announcing his presence. A middle-aged man appeared from behind the counter.

"Good afternoon!" he greeted Sam. "Welcome to 'Almost Home Resorts'."

"Hi," Sam returned. "I've got a room reserved, the last name's Klein."

"Ah, yes," the man said, finding the name in his registry. "Double room, ground floor. Will you be using the same credit card you used to register?"

"Yeah."

Sam looked around while the man continued the registration process. Near the desk was a rack of pamphlets for the local tourist attractions – beaches, boat tours, water parks, zoos… He picked up one of the ones for the beaches, thinking Dean would enjoy the eye candy.

"Sign here," the man spoke up, getting Sam's attention. Sam did so and the man slid him two room keys. "Room one-one-five, that's down this hall and to the right," he added, pointing. "Probably be easier to use the entrance at the end of the hall, though, if you're coming in from the parking lot."

"Thanks," Sam said with a nod and turned to leave.

"Enjoy your stay!"

Returning to the Impala, and Dean, Sam got into the car.

"Down at the end of that wing," he said, pointing. "The far entrance."

Dean nodded and backed out of the parking spot, moving down the lot toward the entrance Sam had pointed to.

"So what kind of amenities this place have? Room service? Cable? Porn channels?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably just the first two, but here," he said, showing Dean the beach pamphlet, "There's a beach down the road. Plenty of bikinis to feed your X-Rated imagination."

"Yeah, and maybe they'll feed something else, too," Dean replied with a wink.

"You are so pathetic."

"You're just jealous."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The two made quick work of claiming the room as theirs, unpacking a few of their belongings and carefully stowing their weapons. Once done, Dean went to the bed closest to the door and flopped down onto his back across it.

"'Oh, no, I'm not tired. We don't need no stinkin' vacation,'" Sam mocked, ducking when a pillow came sailing his way.

"Yeah, yeah, well, I'm not seeing any pretty girls in bikinis at the moment, so there's nothing to stay awake for," Dean replied.

"Well then, lets change that. There's a pool out back."

"Itchin' to get into your Speedo, Sammy?"

"I'm just going to take a few days and enjoy my life, that's all," he said, grabbing some shorts and heading into the bathroom.

Dean smiled. This was going to be a good few days for Sam, getting away from the ghosts and goblins. Just what he needs. Picking up the beach pamphlet and opening it up, looking at the scantily clad women, he thought that maybe it would be a good few days for him, too.

The brothers made their way to the back of the resort, to the pool area, and claimed a couple of chaise lounges. Dean put their small cooler down in between the two, within easy reach, and pulled out a bottle of beer.

"I'm not seeing any bikinis, Sammy," he groused, looking around the pool, most of its occupants being young families.

"So tomorrow we'll hit the beach. Today, we'll just veg out here and enjoy the sunshine, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever." Dean reached down and grabbed the latch to the chaise and reclined, adjusting his sunglasses and resting the beer bottle on his stomach.

Though Dean now looked to be the poster boy of relaxation, Sam knew better. No matter how relaxed, even asleep, Dean looked, he knew Dean was doing a recon of the pool area, checking the place out, not just for bikinis, but for potential bad guys, ghouls, or whatever.

Sam pulled his tee shirt over his head and leaned back in his own chaise, letting the sunshine bask down on his chest, warming him. He looked over at his brother, still clad in his jeans and long tee and inwardly sighed. Dean wouldn't be doing any swimming or sunbathing any time soon, at least not in the public eye.

While Dean often joked about the various scars that criss-crossed his body, alluding to how much the chicks dug them, Sam knew Dean wasn't about to advertise his history here, in front of the general public, especially the kids.

Sam reached down and grabbed his own beer.

An hour later, or so, Sam climbed out of the pool and returned to the chaise. "I'm gonna go get some dry clothes and the lap top. You need anything?" he asked.

"Nah, I'm good. Looks like the eye candy finally showed up," Dean replied, subtly pointing his beer bottle in the direction of the opposite side of the pool.

Sam took an appreciative glance at the two young women laying out beach towels.

"You sure you don't want to hang around, Sammy? While you're still all glisten-y wet in your swim suit?"

"I'll pass," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Besides, if I'm not around, you'll have better odds of scoring with at least one of them."

"Hey!"

Dean watched with interest as the women made themselves comfortable, enjoying his view, and then was disappointed to see two young, muscled men show up and join them.

_Oh, well. I can still look, at least,_ he thought.

Settling back, readjusting his sunglasses and closing his eyes, Dean relaxed back into the relative calmness of his surroundings. The relative normalness of his surroundings. It still bothered him, every now and then, to see such innocence, such happiness. At times he envied the ignorant life, but at the same time didn't think he could ever come to join them in their normalcy. He'd always know what was lurking out there. He'd always know what a risk it was to be a hunter.

His thoughts were interrupted when someone landed on his lap.

"Oh!" a feminine voice exclaimed.

Dean was sitting up instantly, finding himself with an armful of beautiful woman.

"Hey, easy there," Dean soothed, righting the woman so that she was sitting on the chaise instead of his legs. "I know women have fallen for me before, but usually it's not literally," he added.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm just so clumsy. I'm still new at this."

That was when Dean saw the red-tipped white cane she was clutching, and the manner in which she held herself.

"No problem. No harm done," he assured her. "Can I help you?"

"I'm just looking for a good place to sit, I miss the sunshine," she said.

"Well, there's a nice empty chair right behind you," he offered, turning on his charm.

The woman smiled as she reached behind her and felt the chaise that Sam had been using.

"Why thank you, sir," she said, her charm turning on.

"Dean. Dean Klein," he introduced himself, gently taking her hand in his.

"Marcia Brody."

"Nice to meet you, Marcia Brody."

When Sam returned to the pool, he saw that Dean was talking with a woman, a woman sitting in his chaise. He nodded to Dean as he walked by and found another chaise further down the row, not wanting to intrude or cramp Dean's style.

He opened up his laptop and read through the various news sites, checking the local ones first, making sure that there wasn't anyone, or anything, that might interrupt their vacation.

Then he checked his mail and surfed the net, finding a nice game site to keep his mind occupied and not thinking at the same time.

A while later, he saw his brother escorting the woman, who he now saw was blind, toward the gate and away from the pool area. Dean turned and looked his way, giving him a wink.

Sam nodded back at him, and returned to his game, happy that Dean was actually enjoying himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam looked up as the door to their room opened and Dean entered. He looked down at his watch and gave Dean a knowing look.

Dean just smirked and headed for his bed, collapsing onto it.

"That bad?"

"That _good_. Damn, Sammy, she was…"

Sam quickly held up his hand, cutting off Dean's words. "I don't need to know the details," he said. "Just glad you had a good time."

"Understatement of the year, Sammy boy."

"Do you at least know her name?"

"Marcia Brody. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!" Dean replied, laughing at the Brady Bunch line he'd quoted.

Sam laughed along with him. "Marcia _Brody_? Does she have sisters named Jan and Cindy?"

"Why, you need a date?"

Sam ignored the jab. "I take it she's staying here, too? You gonna see her again tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm taking her to the beach in the morning."

"Damn," Sam remarked, wondering about his brother's attitude, he was usually the 'love 'em and leave 'em,' one-night-stand type. "Are you really my brother?"

"Hey, one word, Sammy: Tactile," Dean told him, knowing by Sam's face what he'd been thinking. "Well, that and the fact that I can still look at all the other eye candy around and she'd never know it…"

"Okay, you're still Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

The next morning, Sam joined Dean and Marcia on their trip to the beach. Dean led her from the parking lot and over the dunes to a nice spot away from most of the crowd already there. Sam spread out the bedspread they'd taken from one of the beds in their room before kicking off his sneakers and dropping down onto it.

Dean helped Marcia orient herself so that she, too, sat down onto the bedspread.

"I used to come here as a kid," she began. "Is there still a blue lighthouse to the south?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "A navy blue and white striped one. We're about half a mile from it, probably."

"What else do you see?"

"Well, I'm sure Sammy here is seeing all the young college-aged girls walking around in their skimpy bikinis," Dean started.

"But not you, you don't see them," Marcia cut in, laughing.

"Dean pointed them out to me, first," Sammy put in, defending himself.

"What else do you see? Any boats out there today?" she asked.

"There's a couple of small sailboats, out straight ahead of us, a couple people trying to windsurf," Dean told her. "Out further, looks like a couple freighters."

"You can see them out that far?"

"Ol' eagle eye Dean…" Sam remarked. "Can shoot the wings off a fly at fifty yards."

"You boys hunters?"

"Sometimes," Dean replied.

"So, Marcia, you said you used to come here when you were younger?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah. My family came here every summer when us kids were young. I always wanted to come back again, as an adult, just to see if I could remember things, how they felt, smelled… After… after I lost my sight, even more so." She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry. Getting melancholy here, instead of having a good time."

"It's okay," Dean replied.

"Well," Sam said, standing up. "I'm gonna go for a swim. Catch you guys later," he added, heading for the surf.

"Your brother seems nice," Marcia stated, when she didn't hear Sam's footfalls anymore.

"Yeah, he is. Too nice sometimes, gets him in trouble," Dean returned.

"So that's why you're around, to be the big, protective big brother?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"So who protects you?"

Dean briefly wondered about why she would say that, but told her, "I don't need protecting. I can take care of myself."

She reached out and, after a bit of feeling around, grabbed Dean by the chin, leaned in and kissed him, hard. "That's what they all say," she said.

By mid-afternoon, the trio was ready to head back to the resort. After helping Marcia out of the car, Dean told Sam, "I'm gonna walk Marcia back to her room."

Sam nodded and said goodbye to the two. He knew by Dean's tone of voice that his brother probably wouldn't be getting back to their room any time soon.

Again, he was quite happy about how their little vacation was turning out. A Dean that was getting some was a Dean that was happy. And a happy Dean was always a good thing, making for a happy Sam, even…

Sam smiled even more as he entered his room, thinking that the only thing that could possibly be better for Dean's mood would be if he'd hustled pool money from her first and she still wanted to have sex with him…

Dean unlocked and opened the door to Marcia's room for her. He stood aside and watched as she made her way into the room, her red-tipped cane showing her the way around the room's furnishings. She stopped at the foot of the bed and beckoned him closer. She removed her sunglasses and exposed her damaged eyes.

Unfazed by them, seeing only the perfect body they were part of, Dean closed and locked the door behind him and moved into her arms, a smile on his face.

"So tell me, Dean," she purred, "Are you like leftover stew, better on the second day?"

Her hands moved to the bottom of his tee shirt, lifting the edges up and over his head.

"You know, that was _really_ bad," he replied, unbuttoning her blouse. "I don't think _I _would even use a line like that."

"No? What kind of line would you use, then?" She reached for the zipper on his jeans, pulled it down.

"I don't know. Can't remember the last time I had more than a one nighter." He unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor.

"Those women don't know what they missed." She pushed his jeans down. "Commando? Ooh, you live dangerously."

"You don't know the half of it. And yes, they _do_ know what they missed." His hands were cupping her breasts as she undid her own shorts' zipper, let the cloth fall to the floor.

"Well at least _I'm_ not going to miss out," she said and shoved Dean onto the bed, following him down to lie on top of him.

The two rolled around on the bed, fighting for dominance, losing the rest of their clothing before Dean found himself being straddled by Marcia. She leaned down and kissed him, before making her final move, joining with him.

Dean gasped as she moved, up and down, all around, her hands roving up and around his chest and abdomen, tracing his scars. They had nearly reached their crescendo, when Marcia suddenly stopped.

"You know what I think I like most about you, Dean?" she asked, her voice suddenly very serious.

Dean, not used to any deep conversations during sex, warily answered, "Noooo."

He was even more confused when it seemed as if she had made direct eye contact with him, and somewhat scared when she said, "You have the most beautiful eyes."

And that was when Dean screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean screamed. It was the only thing he could do. Marcia, whatever she was, was using magic of some sort to pin him to the bed, unable to move, unable to fight. He was unable to even close his eyes, despite the burning pain in them, despite the fact that it felt as if she were reaching into them with her bare hands, pulling his vision out of them, pulling away the light. He screamed not because of the physical pain, but because he was helpless to stop her.

"You fucking bitch! What the hell are you doing to me!" he spat at her, willing his uncooperative body to move, even an inch, just to get out from under her spell.

"I'm just taking what should be mine. What was taken from me," she said calmly, as if she wasn't the source of his pain, his impending blindness.

Dean was panting, trying to lessen the pain, trying to put up the brave front that was such a big part of him.

"I didn't take it from you," he tried to reason, but only cried out louder, as the pain intensified. "Ah, shit! Sammy!"

Sam returned left the resort's dining room, having eaten his dinner alone, and headed toward the lobby. He thought he'd take another look at the rack of pamphlets and see if there might be something else to entertain them the next day. He smiled at the thought. They came here to the resort to relax and do nothing. But he was already getting antsy, having spent the last few hours alone, reading and watching television.

He'd thought about maybe checking out some eye candy himself, smiled as he realized that his inner voice sounded like Dean when he used that particular phrase, and knew that he wasn't up for that kind of adventure yet. Picking up a brochure for a tour boat, he thought he'd found his diversion.

Walking past the door on the way down the hall to his room, something made him look outside. He saw a newer model Honda driving toward the parking lot exit. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn it was Marcia driving. Shaking the crazy thought from his head, he continued on to their room.

When Dean came to, it wasn't too pleasant an experience. His head throbbed, his eyes ached and he thought he would throw up. Muzzy thoughts brought the word 'hangover' to mind as he rolled over in his bed.

"Oh, shit, Sammy, you should have cut me off," he mumbled, reaching for the bedside lamp.

When he turned the switch and nothing happened, though, a switch of another sort turned in his head and everything came back to him in alarming clarity.

"Fuck!"

His eyes flew open wider, his frightened state thinking that the action would help matters. He could feel himself starting to hyperventilate as his shaky hands slowly made their way to his face, to his eyes. He carefully probed the now closed lids, feeling the solid orbs below, silently thanking whatever deity hadn't been protecting him from Marcia that they were at least still there.

He opened them again, blinked his eyes over and over, hoping that maybe something would happen, and was disappointed each time. Each time he saw nothing. Everything was black. He was blind.

The air conditioner motor kicked in then, startling him, and he quickly turned to face it, hands out defensively, then felt stupid when he realized what the noise was.

"Okay, Dean, get a grip," he told himself, calming down his breathing.

It reminded him, though, that he needed to get back into his "normal" mode of thinking. He needed to get himself out of there. He needed to find Sammy. He needed to find that bitch Marcia and get his vision back.

Sudden dizziness and returning nausea made him nearly fall as he rose from the bed. He took a few calming breaths and made his way around to the foot of the bed. He felt around for his clothing, finding his jeans and putting them on. Next, he found his tee shirt and pulled it on over his head, not caring when he realized it was on inside-out. He was about to try to find his way to the door when he realized that he didn't think he'd be able to make it to his and Sammy's room on his own. He fumbled with his jeans pocket until he was able to produce his cell phone.

Another wave of dizziness had him sitting back on the bed. Opening up the phone, he carefully felt the buttons, praying that he'd pushed the right ones, and hit the send button.

"Come on, Sammy, pick up," he whispered.

Sam hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep until his cell phone rang, waking him up. He picked up the phone off the nightstand and blearily read the caller ID.

He flipped open the phone and grumbled, "Dude, it's like… one in the morning."

"Sammy…"

Sam was instantly awake and sitting up now. He knew that tone of voice. Knew that there must be something seriously wrong for Dean to be using it.

"Dean, what's wrong? Where are you?" he asked as he turned on the light and started getting dressed.

"Marcia's room. Three twenty-four."

"Dean? Are you okay? What about Marcia? She okay?" Sam put a handgun into his coat pocket, grabbed the backpack containing some other choice weapons and tools of their trade, and headed for the door.

"Sammy? Sammy we gotta find her."

Sam wasn't sure what to expect when he got to Marcia's room. Dean wouldn't say anything more, wouldn't tell him what was wrong. But his thoughts kept coming back to the woman in the Honda he'd seen in the parking lot after dinner. Part of him kept saying that it couldn't have been Marcia. He'd seen the woman's eyes, when they were at the beach, when she'd taken her sunglasses off in order to put some sunscreen on her face. Thick grayish scars crossed in front of both pupils, effectively blocking out any sort of light. There was no way she could or should be driving a car. But the other part of him, the part of him that partnered with his brother, fighting demons and ghosts and anything of else of the supernatural world, knew differently.

And yet he was still unprepared for what he would find in Marcia's room.

Nearing the room, he took a quick look around the hallway and drew his handgun. He stayed to the side of the door and knocked lightly.

"Dean?" he called quietly. He reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. "Dean, I'm coming in," he announced.

When he opened the door, he entered cautiously, sweeping the room left and right with the gun, making sure there were no bad guys, before slowly approaching the slumped figure sitting on the end of the bed.

"Dean?" he whispered.

Dean raised his head then, and opened his eyes, his eyes covered with thick, grayish scars.

Sam couldn't help but gasp at the sight, his hands reaching up to touch Dean's face, touch his eyelids.

"She took them, Sammy. She took my eyes."


	4. Chapter 4

"She took them, Sammy. She took my eyes."

Sam gently turned Dean's face toward the lamplight, hoping to get a better look. While he saw that Marcia hadn't really, physically, removed Dean's eyes, and replaced them with her own, it appeared to Sam that she had somehow transferred her scars to Dean's eyes.

Sam didn't miss the fact that Dean's eyes were red and teary, either.

"Does it hurt? Can you see anything?" he asked.

"Burns… like they're dried out," Dean replied, matter-of-factly. "Everything's black. What do they look like, Sammy?" he whispered.

"Dean…"

"What do they look like!" he shouted.

"The gray scars, just like she had," Sam admitted.

"Goddammit, Sam! We gotta find that bitch! We gotta find her and find out what kind of fucking spell she used and… and… Aaaggh!" Dean slammed his hands down onto the bed in frustration. "I can't do a fucking thing, Sammy!"

He stood up quickly, wanting to pace the floor, punch something, get out of the room… anything but sit there. But Sam put his hand on his shoulder and urged him to sit back down.

"Okay, Dean, we'll find her. I promise, we'll find her," he told his brother. "I even have a lead, I think – I saw her driving a newer Honda, probably around six o'clock. Is that when it happened?"

"You saw her driving?" Dean asked. "At six? What time is it now?" he asked, standing up again, ready to go.

Sam didn't stop Dean from getting up this time. He knew it was too late to chase after her now. He looked at his watch anyway, though, and said, "About six or seven hours ago."

"Shit, Sammy, we'll never find her now." Dean put his hands on top of his head, scrubbing them through his hair, and sighed in frustration. The dizziness came back and he swayed a bit. Sam quickly caught him and gently guided him back to sit on the bed again.

"We will, Dean, we will," Sam said softly. "Now why don't you tell me what happened."

Dean took a deep breath, held it for a beat and let it out, nodding, willing the dizziness away. "We'd gotten right into it, as soon as we got back from the beach, and she… damn, right when we got to the good part… she asked me if I knew what she liked about me."

"She say anything else? Anything that sounded like a spell or incantation? Any… I don't know, sparks? Auras?" Sam pressed.

"She said, 'You have the most beautiful eyes,' and then, WHAM! this." He pointed to his eyes. "I tried to fight her, tried to break eye contact… but fuck, Sammy! It was like I was superglued to the friggin' bed!"

Sam nodded solemnly. "Okay, first things first: we gotta search the room. See if she left anything behind."

"You mean, _you_ gotta search the room," Dean corrected bitterly.

"Fine. _I'll_ search the room. _You_ search your memory, see if you can remember anything or anyone else like this, someone transposing injuries or senses or… _any_thing." Sam saw Dean reach up to rub his eyes and stopped him, saying, "Don't rub. Here, let's go to the sink, rinse 'em out, maybe that'll stop some of the burning."

Sam rose from the bed and urged Dean to rise as well. He gently turned his brother toward the bathroom and gave a gentle push. He stayed close, keeping his left hand on Dean's shoulder, slowly guiding him the few steps. Dean's hands were out in front of him, trying to feel his way there, already trying not to depend upon Sam. When he felt the doorway, he slowed and stepped over the threshold. Sam reached in and turned on the light and guided Dean to the sink. Dean reached forward and turned on the cold water.

"Just splash some into your eyes. Gently," Sam told him. "I'm gonna start checking the room."

Sam gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze and moved it down to gently rub his back a few times before turning to leave the bathroom.

Sam didn't know what to think. He was terrified, actually, too terrified to _want_ to think. But he knew he had to. He knew he couldn't show his fear. He had to be the one in control, running the show now. Beyond the fact that Dean wasn't physically able to do anything at the moment, Sam wasn't sure if he was emotionally or mentally able to do anything.

"She said her family came here every summer," Dean called from the bathroom.

Sam shook his head and smiled, retracting his last thought. He pulled out the dresser drawers, and began examining them, looking for traces of anything Marcia may have had in them.

"We need to lean on the front desk guy. Find out everything we can about her and her family," Dean added.

"_If_ she was telling the truth about all that," Sam replied, feeling up under the bottom of the dresser, and down onto the floor under it.

"I think she was." Dean stood in the bathroom doorway, facing the room now, dabbing a towel at his face. "There was too much detail in how she described the places around here."

Sam started over toward him, ready to lead him back to the bed, but Dean was already making his way.

"You okay?"

"That's a stupid question, Sam," he replied, just as he got near the bed.

"I mean… never mind. You're there."

Dean felt for the bed in front of him and sat down on it. He'd successfully avoided answering Sam's question. He _wasn't_ okay. Far from it. Deep down, he was scared shitless, and he knew it. But in normal Dean fashion, there was no way in the world he would let Sam know that. He even thought it would be easier now to keep Sam from seeing through his tough guy image, since he wouldn't have to make eye contact…

"You find anything yet?" he asked.

"Nothing. Nothing in the dresser, anyway. I'm heading for the desk now." After Sam opened up the drawer there and moved the writing pad with the resort's letterhead, he asked, "So what do you think she is? Demon? Witch?"

"I've never heard of a blind demon or witch. They'd use their power to overcome any injury," Dean replied.

"Okay…" Sam went over to the refrigerator and opened it up. Moving a couple of cans of Coke, he found several small plastic baggies and bottles. "Dean," he called. "She's got ingredients or something – herbs, spices, maybe?"

"So maybe she just likes making her own potpourri."

"Dean, I think she made a potion of some sort. She didn't feed you anything did she? Or rub anything on you?"

"No."

"So then it must have been something to empower her," Sam thought aloud.

"Time to find her, Sammy," Dean decided. "Time to talk to the guy at the desk."

Sam took the items from the refrigerator and put them into his backpack. He reached for Dean and gently grabbed him by the elbow. "Come on," he said, steering him toward the door.

Before leaving the room, Sam took one last look around, making sure he had all of their belongings. Nodding in satisfaction, he closed the door and turned to face his waiting brother. Sam had to hold his breath for a minute, keep from letting his emotions out. Because he knew that even blind, Dean would sense his fear, and maybe even his pity. But it was hard for Sam not to feel those things as he watched his brother standing utterly still, his expression blank, his eyes, dull, gray and sightless.

"Let's go, Sam," Dean said, impatient.

Sam reached for Dean's hand ready to lead him down the hall.

Dean snatched his hand away, balking. "Dude! I'm not some little kid needs his hand holding!"

"So what do you want to do, instead?"

"Just…" _Shit,_ Dean thought. He remembered how Marcia told him to lead her. "You walk ahead; I'll hold onto your elbow," he told Sam and did as he said.

Slowly but surely, the brothers made their way down to the lobby. Sam tried to fuss when they'd gotten to the stairwell, but Dean again argued and took hold of the handrail himself. He'd gotten most of the way down without tripping, Sam still worrying, telling him how many steps to go, encouraging him with "just a little further" remarks.

"Sam? How many dark places have we gone through? How many times did you forget your flashlight and we had to feel our way out of some of them? This isn't gonna be that hard!" Dean lit into him, feeling babied.

"This is different, Dean."

Dean ignored the remark. He knew it was different. He knew there was no literal 'light at the end of tunnel' or spare flashlight here. But he didn't do helpless. Didn't _want_ to do helpless. He stumbled on the last stair as he lost his concentration. "Shit!" he cried and again tore himself from Sam's grip after his brother had stopped his fall.

Sam knew what was going on with Dean, to a point. Dean had been practically taking care of himself, if not the two of them for twenty years. To be suddenly so dependent on Sam, on _any_one, would be something so against Dean's nature that he'd automatically be fighting against it. Sam believed Dean would even fight against their dad in this situation.

Sam opened the stairwell door and peered out, checking the hall. They didn't need anyone who may have seen Dean these past two days suddenly suspicious about him, or seeing his eyes. The people around this place would be likely to call an ambulance for him, thinking he had some nasty accident. But it was near two in the morning. There weren't going to be too many people up.

As they made their way to the lobby, Dean heard a television playing quietly. He figured it was the desk clerk.

Sam immediately led Dean to one of the couches in the lobby and pushed him down into it, saying, "Just sit here. I'll get what we need."

"Is it the old man working?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, so if he's been here long enough, he should be able to tell us something about Marcia."

At the sound of her name, Dean tried to stand up, wanting, needing, to be in on the 'interrogation' but Sam pushed him back down.

"I can do this, Dean," Sam. "But if he does know Marcia, and he sees your eyes, it's just gonna spook him."

"Nice choice of words there, Sammy."

"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean… shit."

"Just do it, Dude," Dean said, pushing Sam away.

As Sam approached the desk, the man he'd seen at check-in was there.

"You work all the shifts here? Don't have anyone young and desperate enough to pull the all nighter?" Sam asked casually.

"Kid called in sick tonight," the man replied. "Your friend okay there?"

"Drank too much," Sam replied. "Which is why I need to ask you about one of your other guests." He saw the look of confusion on the man. "What can you tell me about Marcia Brody?"

"Marcia? That poor girl?"

Sam bit his tongue before continuing. "Yeah. See, she and my brother _spent some time_ together today." Sam said it in such a way to infer what they were really doing, without having to say they were having sex. "And anyway, when he woke up before, she was gone, and so was his wallet."

"What? Marcia wouldn't do that! I've known her and her family for years!"

"So you know her well?"

"Have you seen her? The girl's blind!"

"So blind people can't steal stuff?" Sam said, accusingly.

"She's a sweet girl. And since the accident… you can't help feel for the girl and her family. She didn't steal his wallet," the man said adamantly.

"Okay, then, how about, maybe, she packed it by mistake, maybe it fell out of his pocket, onto something of hers?" Sam suggested. "Look, we just want to know how to find her, to find out if she does have my brother's wallet or not. You say you've known her for years, that she's a good person. I'm sure she'd want to return his wallet if she got it by mistake." When the man hesitated, Sam added, "I'd hate to have to call the police on this, if she's really the nice girl she seemed to be."

That clinched it for the man, and he started going through his registry. He wrote down Marcia's name, address and phone number. "I'm sure it's all a mistake."

Sam picked up the paper and put it into his jacket pocket. "How does she get here? Does someone drive her? Is her family here, too?"

"The evening manager called a cab for her tonight, to get her to the bus station," he replied. "Her family's gone now."

Sam nodded. "Thanks," he told him and walked back to Dean.

"I heard," Dean told him.

"Come on, lush," Sam said loud enough for Dean and the man at the desk as he pulled one of Dean's arms over his shoulder, helping his 'drunk' brother toward their room.

About half way down the hall, Dean asked, "Can he still see us?"

As soon as Sam said, "No," Dean pulled out of his arms and felt his way along the walls instead.

When they got to their room, Dean made his way to the bed in front of him and collapsed down onto it. Sam didn't miss the exhaustion and look of pain on Dean's face.

"Why don't we get some sleep first. Head out after breakfast?" Sam suggested.

"No," Dean argued, immediately sitting up again. "Pack up, Sammy. The sooner we find her the better." Sam was about to argue back, when Dean added, "With some spells and shit, the longer they work, the harder they are to reverse."

Sam nodded, and then realized that Dean wouldn't see that. He said, "Yeah," and began packing their stuff.

Both brothers hoped that they weren't already too late to reverse whatever it was that Marcia had done.


	5. Chapter 5

As Sam packed, Dean only asked two more questions: where she lived and how far away were they.

Sam wasn't sure how he felt about his brother at the moment. Fear and pity and outright need, knowing he was his brother's lifeline, Dean's only hope at getting his sight back fought with outrage, not just at Marcia, but at Dean, too. His brother was being way too stubborn and way too… Dean. Sam understood. He really did understand his brother's actions, but he couldn't help being pissed at him.

"For once in your life, Dean, will you let me help you? Jesus!" he swore, watching as Dean purposely strode away from him, feeling his way along the outside wall of the resort.

"I know where I parked the damn car, Sammy. My eyes are gone, not my fucking legs!"

"Fine." And Sam bit his tongue and held himself back and yet couldn't help warning, "Watch out for the curb, though, I'd hate for you to put a dent in the car when you fall face first onto the hood."

Sam looked over at Dean, his older brother slumped down in the passenger seat of the Impala. He tried not to feel guilty about the small bruise on the side of Dean's head. Tried not to continue to fuss about it. It was bad enough when Dean was resisting his help, trying to find his own way to the car, shrugging off and away from him, only to trip on the curbing in the parking lot and fall against the car, just like he'd warned.

Dean refused his help then and was still refusing to talk to Sam. Hell, the only thing Dean had said to him since, other than "keep your hands off me" was to ask him if he could drive any faster.

"Goddamn stubborn sonofabitch," Sam muttered.

He reached over and shoved AC/DC into the tape player and turned the volume up, just to have some noise in the car.

It would take them another three hours to get to the address they got for Marcia. If that was where she was even going. Sam had thought about calling her, but figured that she'd surely know they'd be following her then, and go somewhere else. So they'd go to her hometown and look for her there. And if she wasn't there, he'd find someone who might know where she was.

He pushed down on the accelerator.

Dean knew he shouldn't be mad at Sam. He was only trying to help. Only trying to help _him_. He who didn't need anyone else's help. Until now.

_Who are you kidding, Dean? You went to Stanford looking for his help, asking for his help, practically begging for his help. _

_But that was for Dad. Not me._

_Why is it so hard?_

He reached up and gently touched his temple, feeling the bruise and bump. He couldn't complain. Sam _had_ warned him.

Sam. Who had AC/DC blaring in the car. Dean knew Sam was pissed then, if he was listening to the tape by choice.

Dean reached forward, felt his way to the radio controls and turned the volume down.

He felt the bump on his head again. "So, did I dent her?" he asked.

Sam took his eyes off the road to look at Dean. Heard the apology in his voice. "No, you got the worst of it," he replied softly.

Dean nodded his head.

"You want some Tylenol or something? Maybe put something cold on it?"

"Yeah, sure." Dean didn't either would do anything for the pain he was feeling, as it wasn't the physical pain that hurt more. But if it would make Sam feel better, make Sam feel helpful, he'd take them.

Sam pulled the car off the road and put it in Park. As he was reaching for his backpack, Dean asked, "What time is it?"

"Around six. Sun's up," Sam replied. "You hungry? I think I saw a sign for a Denny's at the next exit."

"No, I'm good."

Sam nodded his head, cursed himself when he realized again that Dean wouldn't see it, but didn't say anything. He shook a couple of Tylenol out and put them in Dean's hand, before handing him a bottle of water.

Dean tossed back the pills and opened the bottle of water. After taking a swig to wash down the Tylenol, he recapped the water and put the cold bottle against his temple.

"We're gonna get her, Dean," Sam told him, pulling the car back onto the highway. "We'll figure it out, get your sight back."

"I know you will, Sammy."

"We're gonna do it, Dean," Sam insisted. "And you're gonna start by telling me everything you can about her. Beginning with how she lost her sight. Did she tell you?"

"There was an explosion or something at the local community college," Dean began. "She said she was taking photojournalism classes. Some asshole mixed the wrong chemicals together in the dark room, added his cigarette to the mix and she got hit with the fallout."

"So her career is over," Sam concluded.

"Doctors tell her that she won't see again. The scar tissue is too extensive."

"Seems to me that the asshole in class should have been the first pick on her revenge list, to get her sight back. Why go so far away to pull this on you?"

"Asshole number one died in the explosion," Dean replied. "I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Still… why now?"

It was around ten in the morning when they passed the "Entering the Town of Greene" sign. Sam looked again at his laptop, sitting on the seat between he and Dean. The Mapquest site on his computer, which he'd bookmarked before leaving the resort, was still up. They were about five miles from her house. He pulled into a convenience store parking lot.

"We there?" Dean asked, sitting up straight.

"No, about five more miles."

"Why we stopping then?"

There was irritation and impatience in Dean's voice. Sam had expected it.

"Because I want to do a little more research, first. We really haven't had too much time to do any. I'd like to know if we can get into her house without her pinning both of us to the floor, first." Seeing the stubborn look on Dean's face, he continued, "Dean, more than ever, we gotta be careful here. I don't want to go in shooting first and asking questions later, only to find out that we need her alive to reverse this thing."

He reached over and put a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean flinched at the unexpected contact, but Sam kept his hand there, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We gotta do this right, Dean. No room for revenge here," he said.

"Yeah," Dean whispered, but Sam knew Dean wasn't about to let it go at that. Sam wasn't sure he would, either.

"We're at a convenience store. I'm gonna get us some coffee. We've both been up all night, and after driving all this way, I know I could use some."

"Sounds good."

Sam got into the driver's seat and handed Dean a cup of coffee. "You want me to open the lid?" he asked automatically, and waited for the explosion.

But Dean surprised him. "Nah, I got it," he said quietly, and felt around the rim of the lid for the little tab to pull back. He took a sip, if only to prove to Sam that he could, and said, "Thanks."

"There's a bed and breakfast in the village. I figure we can get a room there and start doing some research," Sam began. "Maybe there's some local lore or coven or something around here. Maybe even find someone there that knows Marcia."

"Everyone should know her, at least by what she told me," Dean said. "I get the feeling that this is a small town. Am I right?"

"Aren't they all?" Sam replied, starting the car back up.

The elderly woman that owned the Riverside Bed and Breakfast couldn't have been more helpful. Or more annoying. Sam wondered if they were her first, if not only, customers.

"Oh, but you boys will just have to come out to the back porch. The breeze there is just so wonderful. I could tell you all about the Town, and describe every little thing for you," she went on, leading the brothers to their room. She hadn't specifically mentioned or asked about Dean's obvious blindness, but the way she had mentioned _describing_ the Town, meant that she hadn't missed it, either.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Watkins," Sam told her. "My brother and I have been driving all day, we just want to crash for a little bit. I promise I'll come out and talk to you later."

"Is that apple pie baking?" Dean suddenly asked, smiling. Sam turned him slightly so that he faced the woman. "I wouldn't want it to burn while we're taking up your time, as I'm sure I'd love to taste it later on," he continued, flashing her one of his brilliant smiles.

"Oh! Yes!" she cried and turned to scurry down the hall toward the kitchen.

Dean slumped against the wall when he knew she was gone and then gratefully allowed Sam to lead him into the room. He'd hated having to be near the woman; even knowing she wasn't a threat. But he truly felt scared by her, being in a strange place, with someone unknown to him nearby, and he wondered about how she was looking at him, pitying him, seeing him as the helpless person he currently was.

"She's just a lonely old lady," Sam told him, reading his thoughts. "She'd probably treat anybody that came in here like this."

Sam led Dean over to a rocker/recliner in the corner of the room and didn't miss the way Dean collapsed onto it, letting out a tired, pain-filled groan.

"You okay? Your head still hurting?" Sam wondered if the trip onto the hood of the car hurt worse than it looked.

"Behind my eyes," Dean replied. He shoved his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and pushed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

Sam looked around their small room. It had a king sized bed, the rocker/recliner, an antique highboy dresser and a small writing desk with chair. The bathroom was down the hall, shared by any other second floor guests there might be.

Mrs. Watkins had asked if they wanted separate rooms, since as brothers they weren't the normal honeymoon couple or vacationing couple that usually went for the B&Bs, but Sam had said they'd be fine sharing. At least she hadn't given him one of those skeptical looks they often got, when checking into hotels together. Brothers. Riiiight…

"You wanna lie down for a little while?" Sam asked. "You look beat. Maybe it'll help."

Dean thought about protesting, giving Sam his stoic, "I'm fine," but thought better of it. Sam was right. They needed to do this right. Which meant Sam had to do it right. And if Sam was too busy worrying about him, then, mistakes would be made. And they'd both be blaming themselves for it. Sam would be blaming himself for it.

"Yeah, sounds good," he said and rose from the rocker/recliner. He let Sam lead him to the bed, but cut him off at that. "I think I can undress myself. Been doing that in the dark for quite a while now," he said.

"I'll be here," Sam said.

And that was enough for Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was driving in a car. Only, it wasn't his car, it was a 90's Toyota compact. He was really confused by it, upset even, because he seemed so comfortable in it. He pulled into a parking space and got out. Again, he seemed very confused. There were people waving to him, saying hello to him. People who seemed to know him, people that were friends with him. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think he was seeing through someone else's eyes. Then he saw a sign that said "Broome Community College" and his vision turned black.

When Dean woke up later on, he kept his eyes closed. He lay there in the bed, hoping and praying it had all been a dream, but as he woke up a little more, added the sound of traffic crossing the bridge next to the B&B and felt the ruffled comforter on top of him, he knew his view of the world wasn't going to change when he opened his eyes.

"Sammy?" he called out quietly, sitting up on the bed.

"Right here, Dean," his brother replied, coming away from the desk to sit on the bed, putting his hand on Dean's leg.

Even though Dean tried not to show it, Sam saw the relief on Dean's face at the contact. The same relief he'd seen earlier at the convenience store, when he returned to the car with their coffees. He hadn't even thought about how scared Dean might have been to be left alone, unprotected, even for those few minutes. He wouldn't say it in words to Dean, because he knew Dean would deny any such fear, so Sam decided to stay by his brother's side, no matter what, to prevent it.

"I gotta take a piss. You wanna point me in the right direction?" Dean asked, ruining the chick flick moment in Sam's mind.

"Sure," Sam replied with a smile, and led Dean out of their room and down the hall. "You want me to wait?" he asked as Dean went in.

"Nah, I think I can make it back on my own. Out to the right, second door on the left?" he asked, pointing.

Sam nodded, saying, "You got it."

When Sam returned to their room, he sat back down at the desk and resumed his research. The Village of Greene was incorporated in the late 1700's. Some Revolutionary War history was involved. As Dean surmised, it was a small town, with one main drag and two whole traffic lights. The current big employer for the area was a forklift factory, of all things. He searched the Internet for information on the surrounding towns and counties as well, looking for any references to strange occurrences, witchcraft groups, the local community college Marcia had attended and any articles about the explosion, etc. And nothing stood out that would explain or even hint at anyone using powers, as Marcia had, to steal Dean's vision.

Sam had left the door open to their room, so Dean had no problem finding it, but he stopped just inside the doorway, unsure of where to go from there.

"To your left, about four feet, is the recliner," Sam told him.

Dean slowly made his way there, his hands reaching out in front of him until he found the chair and sank down onto it.

"This really and truly sucks, you know?"

"I know."

"You find anything yet?"

"Not really," Sam replied, shaking his head. "The only things going around here are a couple of local ghost stories. Supposedly, not one, but two local restaurant/hotels have ghosts walking around in them. They use the stories to drum up business, though; nothing needing our services."

"Anything on Marcia?"

"I found the newspaper article on the explosion at the college. It happened about six months ago."

"What was the name of the college?" Dean asked.

Sam wondered why Dean needed to know, but checked the laptop and read, "Broome Community College. Why?"

"Just wondering," he replied, shaking his head, dismissing the idea. "Did you do any research about the resort town we were in? Maybe she had to go there to get her mojo," Dean suggested.

"When we first arrived, while I was at the pool that first day, I checked things out on the 'net," Sam replied. "Just to make sure we weren't dropping ourselves into the middle of something." He saw the way Dean shook his head. "I know. Didn't work out that way," he added sadly.

"It's not your fault, Sammy," Dean insisted. When Sam didn't reply right away, Dean repeated himself, more assertively. "Sam, it's not your fault."

Sam looked into Dean's eyes, saw the scars, Marcia's scars, and cursed her all over again. "I know, Dean," he replied, and then, getting on with business, he said, "I called Marcia's house. Guy there said she wouldn't be home until around seven."

"Time to talk to the locals, then," Dean suggested. "Why don't we start with Mrs. Watkins and her apple pie?"

"Yeah, she seems like the type to know what's going on and who's doing it," Sam agreed. "And we haven't had anything to eat yet today, either."

Sam led Dean downstairs and outside to the B&B's large wraparound porch. Mrs. Watkins had already placed plates with large pieces of pie on them on a small table sitting between two rocking chairs. There was a teapot and cups on a small serving cart next to the side door as well.

"I'm so glad you boys decided to come down for pie. It's just no fun to have tea all by yourself," Mrs. Watkins remarked.

As Dean sat down in one of the chairs, momentarily startled as it rocked back, he had a sudden sense of panic come over him when Mrs. Watkins placed one of the plates into his hands. He was afraid to eat, afraid to make a mess of himself, not seeing the food or utensils, not sure if he'd know if he was done or not…

Sam picked up Dean's fork from the side of the plate and subtly placed it into Dean's hand. "Nice big piece of apple pie there, Dean. Couldn't have asked for better service."

Mrs. Watkins chose that moment to rise from her chair. "Oh, dear, I just remembered a phone call I had to make. Those insurance companies; if you don't get to them by three, by the time you get off hold an hour later, it's closing time. You boys enjoy the pie, and leave the dishes. I'll clean up later." And she on her way back into the house.

They were silent for a few moments, neither one touching their plates, before Dean said, "She didn't have to make any phone call."

"She's a nice lady," Sam replied. "So take her kindness and eat your pie before she comes back."

_Wasn't kindness, it was pity_, Dean thought darkly. But he ate the pie all the same, even asking Sam to get him another piece.

Just as Sam was picking up their dishes, ready to bring them into the house, Mrs. Watkins returned, scolding him, "Oh, don't you bother with those! I'll get them later."

"Delicious pie, Mrs. Watkins," Dean told her.

"Why thank you, Dear," she replied, taking a seat in the rocker next to Dean. "So what brings you boys to our little town?"

"Came to meet someone," Sam told her. "Maybe you know her? Marcia Brody?"

"Marcia? Oh, Honey, everyone around here knows Marcia!" she said with a laugh. "Poor dear. Horrible about her accident. How do you know her? Did you meet her at the eye clinic?"

Sam looked at Dean, meaning to make eye contact with him, see what Dean thought of the "eye clinic" reference, and nearly cursed himself out loud when all he saw was his reflection in Dean's sunglasses.

"No," Dean replied for them. "But we were hoping she might be able to tell me about it," he added.

"Well, I heard she's back in town," Mrs. Watkins went on, her tone gossipy. "I even heard that those doctors fixed her eyes! Linda Jean, my neighbor, said she even saw Marcia driving down on North Chenango Street this morning! Miracle of miracles..."

As Mrs. Watkins was talking, Dean had a sudden vision of an elderly woman, talking to another older woman, the two waving to him from their porch rockers, as he walked down the sidewalk nearing a bridge. Once he crossed the bridge he saw a sign that said N. Chenango Street. He nearly pitched forward in the rocker when his vision suddenly darkened again.

"Dean! You okay?" Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, steadying him.

Dean shook his head slightly, shaking off the fuzziness. "What?"

"You're looking a little pale," Mrs. Watkins noted. "Are you okay, Sweetie?"

"I'm fine," he replied, trying not to be gruff, shaking Sam's hand off him. "Just tired."

"We've been to see so many doctors and… people… lately," Sam interjected, as if that would explain everything. "Some of them have been complete quacks, so when someone else had mentioned that Marcia's eyes had been healed, we had to find out about her, see if she could tell us who she went to see."

Sam hoped Mrs. Watkins believed his lie, hoped she felt sorry for them, even, and hated himself for it at the same time.

Dean flinched as she took his hand and patted it. "Oh, you poor dear," she cooed. "So young and handsome… to lose your sight…" Then she perked up, lightly slapping Dean's knee, saying, "Why don't I call up Marcia and invite her over here? I'm sure she'd be more than happy to talk to you boys!"

"No, that's okay," Sam told her. "I've already called her. We're going to see her tonight." He looked over at Dean, who still wasn't looking all that great. "I think maybe we'll head back to our room, maybe rest up a bit."

As Dean stood up, a wave of dizziness hit him and if not for Sam at his elbow, he might have dropped right back onto the rocker. "Just a headache," he told both Sam and Mrs. Watkins, reaching under his sunglasses to rub at his eyelids. When he felt steadier, he turned toward the door and reached for Sam's elbow.

When they were alone in their room, Dean sprawled on one side of the bed with an arm over his eyes and Sam sitting against the headboard on the other side of the bed, Sam asked, "What happened down there?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean replied, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment or two, he continued, asking, "Is this place a big old Victorian, yellow, with green shutters?"

"Yeeaaahh," Sam replied slowly, wondering how Dean could possibly know, since he never described it.

"It's right at the end of a bridge, next to a river," Dean went on.

"How do you know this, Dean?"

"I keep seeing things, Sam. I don't know, maybe your ESP shit is contagious, or a family trait after all."

"I don't have ESP, it's-," Sam protested.

"I saw myself driving a Toyota! Shit! A_ Toyota!_" Dean swore, and then continued, "and I was at a college, Broome Community College…"

Sam knew now why Dean had asked about the college name earlier. "All these things Marcia would have seen," Sam suggested. "You think you're seeing through her eyes somehow?"

"Almost makes sense," Dean reasoned. "She took my sight, I got hers… and I got her visual memories."

"I wonder if she got _your_ memories."

"Bitch deserves any of the nightmares she sees if she does," Dean spat.

"Well, if she is seeing any of your visual memories, maybe she won't want to keep them. Between the demons, monsters and one-night-stands in your life…" Sam mused, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, fuck," Dean swore, dreading the possibility that memories of Marcia's sex life might start popping into his consciousness. "Think there's any chance she was a lesbian before she met me?" he asked, hopeful.

Sam swatted Dean's arm and shook his head. Getting back on track, he said, "At least we can probably say she went elsewhere to get her power. The "_eye clinic_," as Mrs. Watkins said – probably some local witch or someone near the resort." He yawned then and patted Dean's shoulder. He realized that he'd been up for over fifteen hours, half of them spent driving, all of them spent worrying about Dean. "I don't know about you, but _I_ need to get some sleep today. Preferably before we need to deal with Marcia."

As much as Dean wanted to protest, to go find Marcia and get it over with, he was still dizzy and _did_ have a headache and he knew that he needed Sam to be in top form to deal with whatever Marcia might throw at them when they showed up at her house later on.

"Yeah, sounds good."


	7. Chapter 7

When Dean woke a little while later, it was to the soft clicking of keys on Sam's laptop.

"Sammy?" he called out, automatically, needing to make sure it was, indeed, his brother.

"Yeah, Dean. Right here," Sam replied, coming over to sit on the bed. "You all right?"

"Peachy," Dean groused, scrubbing his hands over his face, trying to wake up some more. "What time is it? We ready to go?"

"It's almost six-thirty. I did some more searching. There was some woman claiming to be a gypsy, about five miles from the resort, in Stony Brook. She's even got a website; offers all kinds of love potions, hexes and shit for sale; does tarot card and palm readings, too."

"Okay, so gypsies, witches, the real ones with power, usually use talismans or amulets to store their power, focus it…" Dean mused.

"Do you remember Marcia wearing any jewelry or anything?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "No. Not that I was paying much attention." He turned his head toward Sam, then. "Wait. She had an anklet or something. It kept scratching my back that first afternoon." His hands went to his lower back and rubbed the small scabs there.

"It's a possibility," Sam replied, trying not to think of how they were positioned if Marcia's anklet was scratching Dean's back. "We get the anklet, if that's what's holding her power, and destroy it."

"No," Dean countered shaking his head, remembering something, some similar ritual when it came to such things. "We have to reverse it, first. Then destroy it."

Sam nodded grimly. "Lets go."

When they reached the front parlor of the B&B, Mrs. Watkins waved them over. "Boys! I want you to meet my neighbor, Linda Jean," she called. The woman from Dean's earlier vision was sitting on a low sofa next to Mrs. Watkins.

"Boy, you were right, about the eye candy, Emma!" Linda Jean remarked, practically undressing Dean and Sam with her eyes.

Seeing Sam's blush and Dean's smirk, Mrs. Watkins gently slapped Linda Jean on the knee, scolding, "Don't embarrass the paying customers, Linda Jean!"

"We'll be back later," Sam told her and led Dean out the front door.

Sam continued leading Dean over to the car, warning him of the uneven sidewalk pavement along the way, trying not to be overprotective, as hard as that was.

He didn't miss the way Dean touched his car, not just using it to guide him to the passenger door, but gently caressing it, his right hand sliding along its hood. He'd seen his brother treat his car that way before, but now… now it almost seemed as if Dean was saying a final goodbye to his baby.

Sam swallowed hard as he realized that Dean's self confidence in himself, in this whole situation, was gone.

"Dean," he began, leaning his arms on the roof of the car, facing Dean on the opposite side. "Dean, we can do this. Hell," he scoffed, continuing, "if she's been seeing all the shit you've seen, she'll be begging for _our _help."

"I hope you're right, Sam," Dean replied. "'Cause a couple shotgun shells full of salt ain't gonna work here."

Sam sighed as Dean got into the car. Magic and spells and even exorcisms never were Dean's favorites. He preferred things he could kill with salt, knives and guns. They were physical, tangible, even; easier for Dean to understand. Easier for him to relate to. As impossible as it could be, Sam knew that if Marcia had just out and out pulled Dean's eyeballs out, and stuck them in her own head, Dean, blind as he would have been, would have had no problem finding her and grabbing them right back. It was the magic, the fear of it again being used against him, and possibly Sam, too, that had Dean worried now.

Sam sighed again and got into the car. He looked over at Dean, who was sitting up straight, tense, in the passenger seat. He reached over and put a Metallica tape into the player and cranked up the volume.

The drive was short – only long enough to finish one song on the tape and just start the second. Sam pulled up in front of a newer split-level house, just outside the village limits. Marcia's house was two away from this one, of the same style, part of a mid-Seventies development, if Sam judged correctly.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked. "I don't think I can cover the back door for you, like normal."

"How about you go to the front and I'll come in the back," Sam replied. "There's a nice, neighborly sidewalk along the road. A walkway leads right up to the front door. I can get you to the start of her walkway and head around from there."

Dean nodded in agreement, but Sam saw the convulsive swallow he took.

"Or, we can just both go to the front door," he amended. "Yeah. Might as well."

"You're running the show," Dean said, giving in, too easily for Sam's liking, not that he would argue at this point.

They sat in the car for another few moments before Sam finally got out. He went to the passenger side of the car and waited for Dean to get out.

"We're two houses down. I see a small Toyota in the driveway to the left of the house. We're in a housing development, with most, including hers, split-level ranches," Sam told Dean. "There're lights on on the upper floor."

"What are you carrying?" Dean asked.

"The Glock," Sam replied. "You got your knife?"

Sam had gotten Dean's switchblade out of his duffle bag earlier and given it to him. He knew that if there was going to be any sort of fighting or self defense needed, Dean would be able to hold his own if it came down to hand to hand stuff, especially with the knife.

Dean patted his hip in response. "Lets do this," he said, extending his left hand.

Sam gently placed Dean's hand on his own right elbow and started walking toward Marcia's house.

When they neared the front door, Sam gently pushed Dean to the side. "I just thought of something. She won't know what I look like. I mean, if she's seeing some of your memories, she might recognize me, but she won't know that it's me… that it was me at the resort."

"I got it, Sammy," Dean replied quietly. "If it's her, do a quick snatch and grab and get in the house with her. I'll follow."

Sam took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, looking anxiously at Dean, who was up against the wall of the house, next to the door, but out of sight from whomever would answer.

He heard footsteps and the door being unlocked. He braced himself, ready to grab Marcia unawares if it was her. Instead, a young teenage boy answered the door.

"Yeah? Can I help you?" he asked.

"Hi, I'm looking for Marcia?" Sam asked, smiling congenially.

"Yeah? Who are you?"

"A friend. Look, is she here?" Sam insisted.

The boy looked Sam over, giving a smirk, before turning and yelling, "Marcia! One of your boyfriends is here!"

Sam heard Marcia yell something back to the teen and then was practically pushed aside as, skateboard in hand, the boy barreled out the door.

A minute later, Marcia came to the door. Sam saw the immediate confusion on her face and acted, shoving his way in, pushing her against the wall and covering her mouth with his hand, quieting her scream.

"You recognize me, Marcia?" he asked quietly, his voice hard. He saw something in her eyes, saw that she had indeed recognized his face, but knew that she didn't know who he was. "Dean? Come on in!" he called to his brother. Then he saw that she knew who he was, maybe even recognized his voice now that it was used in a more gentle tone.

"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," Dean spoke evenly, as he stepped into the house, his stony façade up and running. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

Sam took his hand off Marcia's mouth, was happy when she didn't start screaming.

"Nothing to say, bitch?" Dean asked, taking out his switchblade.

Fear and indignation made Marcia talk. "I need to see."

"And I don't?" Dean balked.

"You're just a couple of guys, out road-tripping. You don't have careers or responsibilities!" she cried.

"Responsibilities," Dean murmured.

"I'm sorry you had your accident," Sam told her. "But it doesn't give you the right to steal someone else's eyesight; to steal Dean's life."

"I have a life and career in front of me!" Marcia spat back at him, fighting Sam's grip on her. "I'm good! I'm talking National Geographic!"

"Yeah? Well I'm good, too," Dean growled, inching closer, bringing his knife up menacingly.

Wanting to break the tension, Sam asked, "Have you seen any of Dean's memories?" That brought Marcia up short. Sam saw the fear in her eyes. "Those monsters, ghosts…" he trailed.

"So what, he's a movie maker? A special effects guy? Like the world needs any more of that crap!"

"Sammy…" Dean was clearly agitated. The knife flicked around in his hands. He wanted Marcia to know that he knew how to use it, even without his eyesight.

"Easy, Dean," Sam said, calming his brother, momentarily putting a hand on Dean's, stilling the knife's movement. "They aren't special effects, Marcia," Sam told her. "They're real. Real like the magic you used on Dean."

"And most of them are real mean and nasty. Remember on the beach when you asked if we were hunters?" Dean asked.

"Those are the things we hunt. We save lives, Marcia," Sam explained. "Dean saves lives. Or, at least, he did. You've seen the scars. He's risked his life for complete strangers. I think that's a little more important than National Geographic."

Marcia just stood there, shaking her head in denial.

"Did you see the one in the long black robe? The one in the kid's bedroom?" Dean asked. "That was a shtriga. It killed kids, one after another, going through entire towns."

"What happened to you was tragic, Marcia," Sam said, his voice quiet, yet harsh, as he repeated, "but it _doesn't_ give you the right to take someone else's sight. You need to reverse whatever you did."

"The anklet," Dean said. "Is that part of it? Is she wearing it?" he asked.

Sam looked down and saw that Marcia was, indeed, wearing a silver and amethyst anklet. When he met Marcia's eyes, there were tears.

"She told me not to take it off," she whispered.

"Is that all it'll take to reverse the spell?" Sam asked.

"Will doing that give me my sight back?" Dean asked.

"I don't know!" Marcia shouted. "No! I can't be blind! It's not fair!" She struggled in Sam's arms, kicking out.

Dean winced as her foot connected with his arm, forcing him to drop his knife, but he reacted quickly, grabbing her leg. Ignoring kicks to his back from Marcia's other foot, as Sam was busy struggling with her arms and trying to keep her quiet, Dean felt his way down her leg to her ankle, finding the magical piece of jewelry.

No sooner did he rip it off of her, scattering the silver, amethyst and glass beads all over the floor, did he drop to his knees, head in his hands, screaming out in pain.

"Dean!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Dean!"

Sam quickly let go of Marcia, not caring about her cries, not caring if or how she dropped to the floor. His only worry was for Dean.

"Dean?" he called out again, dropping to his own knees and wrapping his arms around his brother.

"Sammy," Dean got out, his voice hoarse. "Sammy…ah shit…" He ground the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Fuck!"

"Easy, easy," Sam tried soothing, holding Dean tighter, feeling useless. "What's happening, Dean? Can you see?" When Dean didn't reply, Sam pressed, "I thought the plan was to _not_ break the anklet?"

"Yeah, well that was before her National Geographic crap," Dean ground out between gasping breaths.

Sensing movement behind him, Sam looked around, his eyes coming to rest on Marcia. She was on her hands and knees, reaching out in front of her, picking up beads. He quickly, but gently, eased away from Dean, leaving him lying on the floor, and moved to Marcia.

"Why weren't you supposed to take it off?" he questioned her, shoving her back, so that while she was still on her knees, her back was against the wall. He grabbed the beads she had gathered from her hands and held them up in front of her face. "Did the spell break with the anklet?"

And as she stared blankly at Sam, he saw the gray scars begin to appear on her eyes, returning her to the world of darkness. He ignored the tears that began to form and fall from her blind eyes and let go of her; he had gotten his answer.

Returning to Dean's side, he was horrified to see that his brother was not moving. "Dean? Dean?" he called, panicking, shaking his shoulder. Trying to calm his own racing pulse, he reached out and felt Dean's neck, needing to feel his brother's pulse. Finding it, he sighed and then, biting his bottom lip, he moved his fingers up to one of Dean's eyelids and gently lifted it. He was relieved to see the ugly gray scars beginning to disappear.

Feeling the beads still in his hand, Sam took a moment to look around the entryway and gathered the rest of the anklet's beads, making sure to look all over, even moving Marcia out of the way, and rolling Dean onto his side to make sure there weren't any beneath him. He didn't want to chance leaving a single bead behind.

He shoved the beads into his jeans' pocket and returned to confront Marcia, who was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and crying openly. "What else did she tell you? How did this work?" he demanded.

"I… I soaked the anklet in some stuff…" she stammered, hating that she was unable to turn away from Sam's hard stare, even though she couldn't see it. "Some weird spices or something. Then…then I said the magic words."

"'The magic words'," Sam repeated, mocking. "Abracadabra? Hocus Pocus?"

"I told him that he had the most beautiful…" She didn't finish, finally dropping her head to her chest.

"Eyes," Sam finished. "Was there anything else? Any other stuff she gave you? Any other '_magic_' words?" he asked.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No. I didn't think it would work. Who believes that stuff?"

"You do, now."

A low groan slipped from Dean's lips and Sam moved back to him. "Dean? You okay?" he asked.

"What the hell?" Dean's voice was raspy and pain-filled. He brought his hands up to his head and rubbed, trying to get rid of the intense headache.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Sam ordered. "Can you see?" There was hope in _his_ voice.

He watched as Dean opened his eyes and then slammed them shut with a groan, covering them with his hands. Sam sucked in a breath, upset that the spell hadn't been reversed after all.

"Goddamn it's bright in here," Dean swore. "Turn off the fucking spotlight, will ya, Sammy?"

Relief flooded through Sam's veins as a big smile crossed his face. "It worked!" he shouted, unable to help himself as he hugged his brother tight.

"Hey, hey! Hands off!" Dean shouted shoving Sam away from him, and then whispered, "And not so loud," as he put his hands to his head again.

"Come on, lets get out of here." Sam grabbed one of Dean's arms and pulled him up off the floor. He held onto him until Dean got his bearings.

"I'm all right," Dean said. He spared a glance down at Marcia, who was still sitting on the floor. "Magic spells, voodoo…all that shit," he told her, "it all comes with a price. If _you_ don't pay it, somebody else does. Either way, someone _always_ gets hurt." Then he knelt down next to her and grabbed her chin, looking into her scarred eyes. He wanted to make sure he had her attention. "I find out you do this again, to anyone, and I'll _personally_ introduce you to one of those demons you saw in my memories." There was no mistaking the threat in his voice. No mistaking the seriousness of his tone. Dean _would_ follow through.

Standing up too quickly, wanting to get away from the woman, had Dean dizzy and slumping against the wall. Sam was there just as quickly, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders, making sure he didn't fall. Sam grabbed Dean's left arm, hooked it around his own shoulder and led him out of the house, to the Impala.

The drive was quiet as Sam drove them back to the Bed & Breakfast, their only conversation being Sam's telling Dean to take the Tylenol he'd put into his hand.

As they pulled into B&B's small parking lot, Dean put his hand on Sam's arm. "I don't want to stay here, Sammy. I want to get out of this town. Away from her and all her friends."

Sam nodded, agreeing. "Stay here. I'll go get our stuff and tell Mrs. Watkins we're leaving; check out."

Dean watched Sam head to the old house. It was exactly how he'd seen it in Marcia's visual memories. Right down to the two women on the rockers Sam stopped to talk to: Mrs. Watkins and Linda Jean. The women rose from their rockers. Sam went into the house and Dean saw the women coming his way. He quickly donned his sunglasses. He was sure that word of Marcia losing her sight again would soon be around the small town. He didn't need them to know that he'd gotten _his_ sight back at the same time.

"Dean?" Mrs. Watkins called, nearing the car. "Sam said you're leaving already. You boys haven't even been here a full day."

"Sorry, Mrs. Watkins," Dean answered her, turning her way. "Something came up."

"Yes, that's what Sam said. I'm still sorry you're leaving, though. You never got to do anything here in town. There's going to be a carnival on the Ball Flats over the weekend."

"Oh, Emma," Linda Jean chided. "You're just upset that you're losing customers. Two very good looking customers." To Dean, she said, conspiratorially, "She was hoping you boys would just sit on her porch each afternoon; hoping eye candy like you two would attract a few more customers."

"Linda Jean!"

Dean was smiling, though. "Kinda like when the manger of Hooters sends his waitresses outside for their breaks," he joked.

Both women laughed with him. Sam returned to the car and put their stuff into the back seat of the car. "Again, I'm sorry, Mrs. Watkins," he told her with a sad smile. "I put the room key on the front desk."

"Thanks, Sam," she replied. "You two boys take care. Come back some time," she added as Sam got into the driver's seat.

After they cleared the parking lot and crossed the bridge, Dean took off his sunglasses. He reached over Sam and turned on the dome light of the car. Then he turned the rearview mirror towards himself. Looking closely at his eyes, making sure for himself that they were the way they were supposed to be, he let out a sigh and slumped back into the passenger seat.

Sam readjusted the mirror and looked at Dean before turning off the light. He thought about asking Dean if he was okay, thought better of it. "So where to?" he asked, instead.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Nowhere."

"How about the mountains? Somewhere with nice views?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Definitely. Hell, just us, in a tent, in the middle of the woods or something."

Sam looked over at Dean, surprised at the seriousness in his voice.

"I think I'm going to need a break from the eye candy diet for a bit," Dean replied to Sam's raised eyebrow look.

Sam smiled and pushed down on the accelerator, heading north, to the mountains.

Dean picked pushed the play button on the tape player and put the volume up as loud as his headache would tolerate.


End file.
